The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 (3 page)

Irene heard the superintendent heading toward the exit behind her. Her brain worked feverishly to come up with an important question she should ask while there was still time. Suddenly, it struck her. “The tattoo. Is it possible to see what the image is?” she asked.

“Yes. It looks like a small upside-down
y
with a cross stroke where the fork separates and a cross stroke a bit higher up on the shaft. I think it resembles a Chinese character. There is a dragon wrapped around the sign and it’s biting its own tail. A very attractive tattoo. Actually a real piece of art, in different colors. See for yourself.”

Stridner twisted the limp grayish green chest so that Irene would be able to see the tattoo. It may have been very beautiful, but now Irene was also starting to feel ill. She pretended to examine the tattoo closely before she thanked Stridner and hurried out of the room.

THEY TOOK Highway 158 from Järnbrottsmotet toward Särö. It wasn’t until they had turned off at Brottkärrsmotet and headed out to Skintebo that Irene broke the silence.

“I think we got a lot of information.”

The superintendent mumbled an answer. Irene thought it sounded like “far too much,” but she wasn’t entirely certain.

“Are we going to have a case review tonight?” she asked, mostly as a means of changing the subject.

“No. Nothing is pressing. We’ll take care of it at morning prayers.” Irene drove by Billdal’s Park and after a while she turned onto the little road to Killevik. From there they could see the boat that the marine divers were using. It was swaying listlessly in the lightly rolling seas outside some of the smaller skerries a few hundred meters from the beach. Blue-and-white flags marked the area where the divers were working. In the distance they could hear rumbling from the Harbor Police boat as it searched through every single islet and the countless small islands.

“Where are all of our people?” wondered Andersson.

“Supposedly out knocking on doors,” Irene answered.

Andersson muttered something unintelligible. He took out his cell phone and started rummaging around in his pockets. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for because his grunting sounded less irritable when he pulled out a wrinkled note. Irene was able to make out the words “Harbor Police” written in red ink. A telephone number was listed below. Andersson dialed the number.

“Hi. Sven Andersson here. Have you found anything?”

He scowled as the person on the other end replied.

“Uh-huh. The divers haven’t either . . . ? Oh.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “Call as soon as something comes up . . . I mean . . . if you find anything. Good. Thanks.”

He did his best to sound normal when he ended the call but Irene knew her boss well enough not to be fooled.

Andersson leaned toward the windshield and glared darkly out at the three boulders. For a long time he sat still, staring intently at the rocks in the water. Thin gray veils of clouds hid the sun but the light sifted through and sprinkled the waves with silvery glitter. Seagulls circled low over the water’s surface, which reflected the sunlight in silvery white. Andersson was lost in thought and didn’t see how beautiful it was. Irene waited for him to break the silence.

“How the hell did the sack get there?”

“I believe in your theory that it was driven between the rocks during a storm. Otherwise we should have found more sacks in the same place or in the surrounding area.”

“Where did it come from?”

Irene shrugged her shoulders.

“No idea. Maybe it came from one of the islands.”

“Hmm. Styrsö is located straight out. And Donsö. But I don’t know how the currents run out here. Maybe it came from Vrångö. We’ll have to check the currents although it is quite a way for a sack to float.”

Irene nodded. “I’ll check on it.”

A thought struck her. “I’ll ask Birgitta if she has a nautical chart. She sails a lot.”

“It’s almost four thirty. I’ll drive you home. Or is your car parked at the station?” Andersson asked.

“No. Krister took it today. He doesn’t get off work until after midnight.”

They could only afford one car, but the system they used worked well. The car was always parked in the Police Department’s parking lot. It was only a five-minute walk from the stylish pub, Glady’s Corner, where Krister worked as master chef. The one who left earliest, usually Irene, would take the car in the morning. If they could ride together they did. The one who worked the latest would drive the car home. For Irene’s part, taking the express bus home from Drottningtorget was fairly quick. But the thought of not having to sit on an overcrowded bus was tempting, so she accepted the superintendent’s offer of a ride.

They drove back toward Highway 158 through open country that was becoming green. Even though villas and row houses had been built in high concentrations in some areas, there were still parts that were very rural. Irene didn’t comment since she knew her boss was not interested in hearing about idyllic natural scenery right now.

“Murders with dismemberments are very uncommon. I’ve been a crime investigator for almost twenty-five years and during that time we’ve had three or four cases. I’ve only investigated one murder-mutilation previously. This will be the second,” he said.

“Who was the victim in the first case?”

“A drug addict and prostitute. They’re the ones who end up like this. They attract the sickest types. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard. If you happen to be a snake charmer, you have to count on being bitten at some point.”

“Such girls feel very abandoned.”

Andersson grunted in response. Irene continued. “Was that body also cut open and emptied of all organs?”

“No. A confused bastard had killed her during some extra-heated sex game in his apartment. He panicked because he didn’t know how he was going to get rid of the body. So he dismembered her in the bathtub and stuffed the pieces into three suitcases. Then he threw the suitcases in a big Dumpster at a building site in the area.”

“Did it take a long time to catch him?”

“Four days. He drank like a pig after the murder and went crazy. He stood on his balcony and shouted, ‘I was the one who cut her up! I was the one who did it!’ After about an hour, the neighbors got tired of it and called us. It was just a matter of driving there and picking him up. He hadn’t even cleaned up properly in the bathroom and the hooker’s clothes were still lying on the floor.” Andersson chuckled at the memory. “But this is something else. Something much worse,” he said and suddenly became serious again.

“What do you mean?”

“To murder a human being and then take apart the body piece by piece like a . . . roasted chicken. It’s damned disgusting!”

“I agree with you. But we don’t know what happened yet. Is this a case of murder or of a necrophile who came across a body and dismembered it for the sake of excitement. . . .”

Irene stopped herself when she became aware of Andersson’s faint moaning.

“Goddamn it! Goddamn it!” he said emphatically.

Irene nodded and decided to drop the subject. Even if both Irene and her boss had worked with murders and murderers for many years, there were still some things that were worse than others.

B Y CHANCE Irene had happened to see the announcement in
GP
a week or so earlier: “Welcome to the Hair Center at Frölunda Torg! We’re now open until 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday and Thursday evenings!” She had pounced on the phone and made an appointment. Finally a hairdresser who understood when people had time to do their hair! She had gotten an appointment at six thirty, which suited her. She would have time to make it home and walk Sammie first.

The twins had their own activities after school. Jenny was very musical and played both guitar and flute. She also sang in two choirs. Today, flute practice was on the schedule. Katarina had a good chance of winning this year’s Junior National Championship in judo since she had won the year before. Irene herself had become European Champion almost twenty years ago. At that time she was the only woman in Scandinavia who had a black belt, third dan.

Sammie was sitting just inside the door and welcomed her with big leaps of joy. That was the advantage of having a dog, thought Irene. It was happy no matter what time of day you came home.

She barely had time to take off her jacket before the phone rang.

“Irene Huss here.”

“Hi, Irene. This is Monika Lind. Do you remember me?”

It took a second for Irene to go through her memory bank to find Monika Lind, but she managed in the end.

“Of course. We were neighbors for a few years. But hasn’t it been four or five years since you moved to Trollhättan?”

“To Vänersborg. Five years ago.”

Monika Lind’s daughter, Isabell, was one year older than the twins. The girls had played together when they were younger, but when the Lind family moved all the way to Vänersborg the contact faded and finally stopped completely. Irene wondered what her former neighbor might want from her.

“It’s about Isabell. The police don’t care and I have to speak with a sensible police officer!”

Monika’s voice broke at the last sentence, and Irene realized, to her consternation, that Monika had begun to sob. Irene tried to use a calming tone of voice. “What is it that’s happened? Has Isabell gotten into trouble with the police?”

“No, but she’s gone! I’ve looked for her . . . but no one cares!”

Heavy weeping could be heard again.

“Monika, please. Try and start from the beginning.”

It was quiet for a while. Irene understood that Monika was making a real effort to calm down. She started speaking in a shaky voice. “Isabell started her second year in the social studies program in the fall. But she didn’t get on well. She has always had a hard time finding her place at high school. She won a beauty contest last summer and after that she wanted only one thing . . . to become a photo model. A photographer here in the city took some very nice pictures of her that cost a fortune . . . but she really wanted it.”

Monika Lind became silent again. Irene could hear her breathing and she knew how difficult it must be for Monika to talk about this.

“Everything stopped at Christmas. She refused to continue going to high school. She said that she had picked the wrong track and wanted to start the mass media program in the fall. And she had also had contact with a modeling agency in Copenhagen.”

Irene jumped in. “How did she get in touch with the agency?”

“Through an ad. They were looking for Swedish girls who were willing to work in Copenhagen.”

“What’s the name of the agency?”

“Scandinavian Models. She got in touch with a female photographer named Jytte Pedersen. I actually spoke with her on the phone twice before Bell left. The agency arranged the trip and the apartment and—” Monika’s voice broke again and she wept in despair.

“She rented her own apartment in Copenhagen?”

“No. She shares one with two other girls. One from Oslo named Linn and one from Malmö named Petra.”

“Where is the apartment located? In what part of Copenhagen?” Irene had only been to Copenhagen once in her life in the last year of high school. Her memories were a bit blurry, probably due in large part to the good, cheap Danish beer and to the distance from watchful parental eyes.

“It’s just next to Frihamnen. Østbanegade is the name of the street.”

“You’ve never visited her?”

“Yes, no. Not her . . . I wanted to go down and visit during the break in February. The disadvantage of being a teacher is that I only have vacation during school breaks. My husband promised to take care of Elin. . . . You might remember that I was pregnant when we moved to Vänersborg. Isabell has a little sister who is almost five. Rather, a half sister. But then Bell didn’t want me to come because they were busy renovating the apartment. Then I wanted to come over Easter but she said that she had so much work. She was going to travel to London for some photo shoots and so on. Increasingly I got the feeling that she didn’t want me to come. The girls didn’t have a phone in the apartment so Bell would always call us. I wrote at least once a week.”